Perfect Fit
by heyepic
Summary: The dress looked better on him, anyways.


**An – a little something extra.**

**It's kinda gross, reader beware. ;]**

**its not romantic in any way shape or form. but REVIEW ANYWAY! :DDDD  
**

**epic**

He's lined us up, like defenseless cattle awaiting a certain death at a meat packaging factory. He's pacing back and forth, eyeing us quietly as his legs move swiftly. I'm maintaining my breath fairly easily; I've encountered situations with unpredictable circumstances before. _This _situation is a bit different though, a bit more horrifying, and I cannot help but stare at him as his eyes study us carefully. He stops pacing, clasps his hands together, and clears his throat.

"Alright," He speaks up, and his voice is nasally, but not completely unpleasant. "I have some decisions to make."

The new intern next to me, Kathy, I think, is trembling. I can feel her arm shaking as it brushes against mine and I glance at her from the corner of my eyes. Her eyes are leaking and her lips are parted, letting erratic puffs of air enter and escape. I don't let my eyes stay on her too long. I don't want him to see.

He steps in front of Jane, one of the older nurses. She's at the end of the row, her fragile shoulders slumped slightly, and he stoops a bit to stare her in the eye. After a long moment – Jane is quivering a bit, he shakes his head and stands up straight again.

"No, no," He sighs heavily. "You're too old." He waves a gloved hand in the direction of the door, "You're free to go."

She lets out a heavy sigh of relief and practically runs for the door, her paper-like skin gleaming with sweat under the fluorescent lights. She's gone within moments, and the rest of us are all silently wondering what the hell it is he's _doing_.

"Now you…" He pauses at Rebecca. She's around forty, divorced for ten or so years now, and has this thick, dark head of hair atop a slightly frumpy body. He purses his lips, staring at her, before shaking his head. "No, you won't do, either." With that, he waves her off towards the door, and she darts away as quickly as she can.

He shoos away a few others.

Too short, he proclaims with a sneer.

Your clothing is too wrinkly, he spats. Comb your hair.

But then he stops at Kimberly. Oh, sweet, Kimberly. She's one of my good friends, works at the front desk and sneaks me the good coffee on my break. She's older than me – around thirty or so, with a gentle nature and the sweetest crooked smile you'd ever see. I feel my lungs constrict as he stops in front of her, his gaze becoming darker.

"You," he drawls, crossing his arms and exhaling slowly. "You are…" He pauses, squinting his eyes at her name tag. "…Kimberly. Is that right?"

She nods quickly, her big, brown eyes wide. I'm praying silently. God, please, _not_ Kimberly. She's too gentle, her soul is too good, she is a sincere person, she is…

"Not a nurse."

I glance up hesitantly and see him craning his head downward at her, his gaze sweeping over her light blue scrubs. He clicks his tongue, shakes his head. "You are not a nurse."

"N-no." her voice wavers and it's so tiny in the big, cold basement he has us in.

"Why are you standing in line?" He murmurs, cocking his head at her. His tongue darts out, swipes over his full lower lip, makes it gleam a deceivingly pretty red color. "I asked that all _nurses_ gather. You're not a _nurse_, though. What is it you _do_, Kim?"

She swallows hard; I can see it, even from my position. "I… I'm the receptionist…"

He blinks expectantly, leans forward slightly. "Meaning?"

"I sort files… I…" She coughs lightly, and her breathing is becoming erratic. "..I answer the phones, and d-direct people to … I …"

"You're not making much sense," He frowns, a sour expression crossing his paint-coated features. "All I'm hearing is that you're not a _nurse_. But what I _see_…" He pauses, narrowing his eyes at her clothing again, "…Is scrubs. Why are you wearing scrubs if you're a _receptionist_?"

"It's…" She takes a deep breath, her eyes are closed now. "It's the required uniform… for all staff…"

"Blah, blah, blah," He waves a hand at her. "I don't care _what _the reason is, what I see is a phony." He smiles slightly at her, cocking his head, his malicious gaze never faltering. "You're wearing this uniform, you're… deceiving people. They come to this _fine_ establishment and think that you're somehow superior to them. But you're not. No, no, Kimmy, you're not _superior_, do you know why?"

He's quiet, expecting her to ask why. She manages to whimper it.

"Because when it comes down to it…" He sighs heavily, his gleaming lips parting. "You're just a _secretary_. You answer the phone – " he pauses, glances at the rest of the line. There's two of us left. "While _they_ contribute to society. You're fake. And do you know what I _hate, _Kimbo? I hate _liars_."

The word 'liars' comes out as a growl and I almost jump from surprise. I don't jump, though. I can't let him see me exhibit fear – no, I would be dead for sure under those circumstances.

She doesn't speak and he sighs again, rolls his eyes. "You can go."

She scurries away and I silently thank God that he spared her, even with the venomous gleam in his eye. He's whistling and fumbling through his plum-colored jacket as her light footsteps become distant, and then retrieves a sleek glock from the lapels. My eyes widen and my breath catches in my lungs again, and as I hear the door open to the exit, where Kimberly was, I see him look up. With hooded eyes, he raises his arm, and it takes but two seconds for his long finger to pull the trigger. The sound of the gun startles me, but the sickening thud that follows nearly causes my stomach to regurgitate its contents.

He'd shot her.

Kimberly was dead – or dying, presumably.

And I couldn't do anything. But stand there. In silence.

I wanted to vomit.

"Lessons learned," He murmurs out loud. He steps in front of me; I'm next, and smiles into my face. "You're not a _fake_, are you?"

I shake my head slightly, my gaze remaining on his. His eyes are black. Not brown, not even a _dark _ brown, but these are _black_ and I've never seen anything so cold or relentless before in my life.

"Good," He nods. He steps back, his eyes flitting up and down my body, before nodding. He hums, brings his hand to his chin. "You show promise. You're tall."

I was tall for a woman, clocking in just under five foot ten.

"But I don't know, you have some… competition… here," He grins, eyes falling on the full figure next to me. It's the awful director of the ward, Matilda Greene, and her heavy form is breathing rapidly. A light sheen of sweat forms on her forehead and her eyes are closed. Her fingers, sausage-like in appearance, are clenched into fists at her sides, and the clown man grins wider when he notices them. "Phew, you sure enjoy having your cake and eating it, too, don't you…" He pauses, leaning forward to read her name tag. …Matilda."

She doesn't answer. I don't expect her to.

I hear her uttering a few prayers, and he hears them too, but he doesn't seem to care.

"Ma…til…da," he speaks slowly, testing it on his tongue. "Matil…da. Matilda…" He pauses, nodding slowly, his eyes still locked on her tiny little name tag. "I like it."

There's a moment of silence, and his eyes are back on mine, "Well, it's between you and Mat-_il_-da here, doll – " he steps back, his nasty brown shoes making these awful scuffing noises on the smooth linoleum. "And as you know, there can only be one winner." He sighs, regarding us both, "See you… you're _tall_, which is great. But she…" He looks at her, her eyes are leaking now. "She's big… a nice, _big_ woman. _Big_ uniform. And I like her name. I like it a lot."

I don't even dare to ask what the fuck he's talking about even though I'm thinking it over and over and over again.

_What the fuck are you talking about_

I keep my mouth shut.

He clears his throat, "Well then. Ladies and gentleman… we have a _winner_ – " He pauses, makes an obnoxious drum roll sound at the back of his throat, and then turns to _her_. He grins, claps, "Ta-da!"

She gasps quietly, eyes widening, and her body relaxes substantially. "O..oh.. thank… thank you… thank _you, _thank.."

She's blubbering. I don't know if she's thanking _him_ or God, but she's crying now, too. And then she turns, leaving me trembling in my position, ready to face my fate.

As she turns to make a mad dash for safety, he steps forward. The gleam of the knife reflects in the bright light and then _my _eyes widen because I realize that gleam is a _knife_. It goes through the air quickly and then plunges into her back, embedded deeply and releasing a strangled gasp from her throat. She crumbles to the ground, to her knees, and he steps forward again, grabbing her by the hair and then twisting her around so her face is even with his. Her face reads everything I expected it to – fear, confusion…

"I guess I should have explained the rules of the game better," He drawls, tugging harder on her hair. There's a stream of crimson liquid running down her bare legs, seeping into her white sneakers, and then pooling onto the floor. "The _winner_ is the person who gets to _die_ – " He hisses, baring his yellowed teeth. "Isn't that _fun_, Ma_tilda_?"

She opens her lips, a gasp escaping, and I know she's trying to speak but cannot. He sighs, frowning disapprovingly down at her. "You wear too much lipstick," He says thoughtfully, and then the knife is at her throat, slicing through the flesh in one smooth motion.

He releases her and I don't know why I'm not screaming, running, doing _something _at this point but I'm not. I'm just standing there silently, watching through widened eyes as horrifying gurgling noises escape the column of her throat. Blood runs down quickly, and her watery eyes are locked on mine, silently begging.

_Help me_

He steps back, sighing as she falls to the ground in a large heap, a last breath exhaling from her mouth. He cocks his head down at her, sighing and shaking his head.

"Well, I'm an idiot," He kicks at her lifeless body. "I can't even _wear_ this now, it's covered in stains." He looks up at me then, unfazed by what he just did. "Does little miss Matilda have any other uniforms handy, by any chance?"

I blink at him, my throat constricting painfully around a dry lump that's formed.

He groans, narrowing his eyes at me, "Can you _speak_? Huh? I don't have all _day_, I'm on a time limit – " He snaps. "I have ten minutes to get dressed now. Are you going to help me or not?"

I contemplate for a moment.

If I don't help him, he'll kill me.

So I nod, lift a shaky hand, and point to an area of lockers in the back corner. "T-three… A…" I manage to stutter, "That's… her locker.. she.. she has another uniform in there…"

He glances over his shoulder and then back at me, winks, and saunters over to the lockers. I stand, numbness consuming me, and stare down at the tops of my white shoes.

_Don't look don't look don't look_

I can't bear to lift my eyes because if I do, I'll see the heavy body lying just two feet away. But I do lift my gaze and stare across to where he is, his lithe body moving in confusing ways. I realize he's pulling his clothing off, and my cheeks flush even _though_ it's _him_ and not an ordinary man. The jacket, the vest, the button-up shirt… they're all flung off, revealing broad , naked shoulders and a fair-skinned torso. I continue to stare though, because then his pants are off. And he's wearing these pretty damn ordinary dark colored boxers, I can't see what color or what material, but they're very ordinary and it scares me to no end.

He pulls the nurse's uniform on with surprising agility. It pulls on and covers his torso now, but I can still see the light coat of hair on his legs and the slightly darker flesh of his arms.

Then he's coming towards me again, his clothes in a wrinkled heap on a chair near the lockers. He stops in front of me, his gaze downward on the dead body near us, and he sighs. "Do me a favor…" He speaks in a low tone, his eyes still sweeping over the lifeless form. He glances up at me, then turns. I see the back of the gown is open, exposing his flesh. He grins. "Zip me."

I take a tentative step forward and reach for the zipper, careful not to make any contact with his skin. I can feel heat radiating off his back as I pull the zipper up slowly, and my eyes take in the very quick sight of light freckles sprinkled across the upper shoulders before the zipper reaches the top.

He nods at me, then leans down over Matilda, flipping her body over with ease. Then I see her face. It's pale, the lips cracked and parted, the red lipstick rubbing off of them slightly. Her eyes are open – glassy, dead. My hand flies to my lips before I realize and my stomach constricts.

He snorts, makes a face of disgust. "I _hate_ it when they do this – " He sighs, his eyes glancing between her legs as he undoes the nametag swiftly. He stands up quickly, his head dipping as he slides the tag onto the clean, white uniform. "She pissed herself. Disgusting."

I gasp in my mouth, my eyes fluttering closed.

He doesn't notice. Or care.

He steps back, clearing his throat. "So. How do I look?"

I let my eyes open hesitantly, and stare at him. He's posing, his lean arms stretched outward in an awkward motion, and it's absolutely revolting to me that the uniform actually fits him. He blinks, cocking an eyebrow. "Well?"

I bite my lower lip for a moment, and then swallow hard. "W-why me?" My voice is hoarse, so I swallow again. "Why…why did you let me live? And… and not..."

"Are you dense?" he sneered, "You're tall, sure, but she's _wide_. Your uniform wouldn't have zipped all the way on me."

So that's why.

Because the uniform fit.

"Well, I'm off." He says, twirling the same gun I saw earlier in his bare right hand. He whistles, walks past me, but stops. "Do me another favor?"

I glance at him, but don't verbally respond.

He grins. "Tell Matilda when you see her that I _really_ like her name. I think it suits me."

"When … when I _what_?" I blink rapidly, confusion sweeping through my body.

He continues to hum, and then smiles again. His hand lifts then, the gun I saw earlier grasped loosely between his long fingers. I gasp, my eyes widening, the realization dawning on me. The gun is eye-level now, a finger on the trigger, and he cocks his head.

"Also, tell her the uniform is wonderful – fits like a glove."

**an – sorry it's not a romance piece. Just something I wanted to get down on paper. Read and review please and thank youuu.**


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